Hi.  My name is Libby.  I am not addicted to Nunkies and don't need to be
here.  I could give up LaCroix filled thoughts at any time.  However since
the courts have ordered me into NA, I might as well share this with our
little loop.  It was borne of awakening this morning with a back ache (of
course I usually do wake up with a back ache but why should that stop me?)

****************************************************************************
Lucien Lacroix, Physical Therapist
by Libby Singleton

     You enter the phyiscal therapy office, sign in and are quickly ushered
back to a private examination room.  The assistant hands you a gown, asking
you to undress from the waist up and put the garmet on.  With some
difficulty, you even manage to tie the strings in the back.

     Stretching out on your stomach, you wait patiently until the door opens.
 "Good evening, my dear," a silky, soothing, sensual voice says.  "According
to your chart you've been in yet another automobile accident."

     "Y-yes," you say, turning your head toward the physical therapist.  He's
tall and pale with steel blue eyes and light hair spiked upwards.  He's
wearing tight, tailored trousers and a form fitting black turtle-neck shirt
with a sword pin attached to the neck.  His identification tag reads "Lucien
LaCroix, Physical Therapist."

     Cold hands slip under the back of the gown and begin to feel the
muscles.  "Oh, my," he says, laughing a little.  "But you _are_ tense.  An
exercise program is most definitely in order.  First, though, we must loosen
you up, as it were."

     Gently, he unties the gown in the back, letting it fall open.  "I shall
begin with a warm lotion to soothe you," he comments as you hear his hands
rub together with a slurping noise.  The lotion _is_ warm, almost hot, and
administered by cool hands the effect is very relaxing.  "Better, my dear?"
he asks.

     "Mmmmmmmmmmmmm," you reply.

     Again, that soft, almost mocking but not offensively so laugh.  "I can
see it is!" he exclaims.

     Strong, talented hands begin massaging your shoulders and neck, the
action becoming increasily firm, though hardly uncomfortable.  Lower and
lower on your back he goes, occasionally stopping to focus on a muscular
knot.  As he approaches your lower cheeks, you regret undressing only from
the waist up.

    Then he stops.

     "Please, keep going, please," you plead, looking up into his face.  His
eyes are burning yellow now, and you can see the hint of fangs beneath his
lower lips.

     "Too much of a good thing, my dear," he says softly, reassuringly.

 "Your therapy _will_ take time as you are a most... difficult case.  A daily
visit will be required, I'm afraid." 

      He wipes his hands on a towel, then starts to leave.  At the door, he
pauses, turning to approach you once again.  He leans over and very soft,
tantilizing lips touch yours.  "Have the receptionist schedule you for two
visits a day," he whispers.

Libby
******
Keeper O' The Ratsie Wot Kilt Screed*
Ratpacker*FKXS*MERC*V4S Author*
*Equal RATS for Carouches*In Nunkies Denial*
******